APH Ireland
by YaBoyMycroft
Summary: This is an oc fic based about Ireland and the British Isles. Please be kind, this is my first Hetalia fic Yes England get's dissed a lot that's Ireland's relationship with him.
1. Chapter 1

A vase flew by at speeds that could only mean one thing: Ireland just found out England had changed all her green mailboxes to red. England ducked as the chair was thrown at him. The feisty red-head stood in front of him, hands pressed firmly on her wide hips. Even if England had a height advantage of at least a foot, she looked as if she could crush him beneath her petite foot.

"What the bloody 'ell bastard? First you starve out half my people, then you raise taxes. Now you paint over my green postboxes?" She fumed. As if it wasn't enough that he was in the middle of a world war, she had to start getting on his ass about minor problems.

"Look, you're part of the UK. We're red no-" Ireland shoved her boot on his chest, cutting him off

"I'm not WILLINGLY part of the UK you cunt headed little fuck. I'm GREEN not RED. You better watch yourself next time you try something." Ireland walked away. Heh, like she could do something with all her young men serving in the war.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oi Bastard!" Ireland slapped the back of England's head, "You zoned out for the past half hour. I had to talk America out of shaving off one eyebrow. Of course, I couldn't resist France's idea of… well, you'll see." The Fire-Head laughed a little too evilly. Germany usually stops them from doing silly pranks, but he doesn't always. England put his hand to his face, and noticed nothing… Now he was scared.

"What did you hooligans do to me?" England frantically tried to see what happened, but nothing seemed different. No genitalia drawn on his face, his hair wasn't dyed, his eyebrows were still in tact, yet Ireland and France were giggling like two naughty school girls.

"Arthur, mon cher, there is nothing to be worried about. Right, Ireland?" The two Satan-Incarnates were elbowing each other way too much.

"Iggy you're such a worrywort. Ease up and enjoy the craic." Ireland couldn't even say that sentence without pausing to giggle. Which only made England more paranoid. The whole walk home he was twitching, trying to find out what they did to him. He was zoned out pretty hard. The whole walk home he was jumpy, which you could tell Ireland enjoyed a lot.

"THAT WAS MY LAST BOTTLE OF WHISKEY YOU DRAGON FUCK" Scotland chucked an empty bottle at Wales. She was reading a book about Faeries and didn't stop reading as she ducked.

"Reading, don't bother me with your pointless bullshit. I didn't even drink it." Wales walked past Scotland, looking up from her book slightly, "If I have to look up again, you will wish you had enough whiskey to forget what I will put you through." She walked out of the room, continuing reading.

Scotland gulped slightly. Wales may be a passive country, but piss her off and you'll be in a world of hurt. Scotland picked up the bottle he threw at his sister, and scoured the room for the next victim.

"Before you throw that at me," England sipped his tea calmly, "I didn't drink it. I had some peat whiskey from North mixed into my tea."

"Don't even try to blame me," Northern Ireland looked up from the small fire he was creating, "I have been making this fire, not drinking your cheap alcohol."

"waIT WHAT FIRE?" England spat out his tea.

"This one. That's right in front of me." North pointed at the small pile of twigs burning in front of him. It was quite obvious what North was talking about.

"North, be a lamb and put the fire out." Ireland patted him on the head gently, "No fires indoors, we have barrels outside for that."

Northern Ireland sighed and extinguished his fire. There was always something burning around North, it was probably due to the fact that his people are constantly burning things in protest. That might also be why he decorated his room in barbed wire and built a wall between himself and England during movie night. Or he's just in his rebellious teen phase. Whichever.

Southern Ireland handed her little brother a fire extinguisher and let him go outside to set something on fire. She started reminiscing about the old days when her and Scotland raged rebellions against England


	3. Chapter 3

"Oi Alba, any luck?" Ireland greeted a bloodied Scotland, returning from another fight against their youngest brother. How had he become so strong in such a short amount of time?

"That little shit cut off me 'ead again, Which reminds me," Scotland pulled out a needle and thread, "A lil help? I can't get the back of m'neck."

Ireland sighed, taking the needle and sewed her brother's head back on. They all used to get along, but now they were constantly at war. If only England kept his cool and didn't take their land. He may have banned their native languages, but they still called each other by their original names. Alba, Eire, Cymry, all sounded much better than Scotland, Ireland and Wales.

England came strolling in, the stake in his hand being waved around like his dumb flag. He looked somewhat bloody, but not as bad as Scotland did.

"Gee, you ran off so quickly you missed it. I put the head of that 'Braveheart' chap on one of these and left it on London Bridge." England tossed the stake towards Scotland. "You put up quite a fight tho, sorry about beating you once again."

"Feck off, England. Alba's twitching is making harder to sew his head back on." Ireland pointed the needle at England's eye. "Unless you want me to start a fight, I suggest you stop."


	4. Chapter 4

"Alfred, dear, manners." Ireland smacked the boy's hand away from the food, "We wait for everyone to get here, and then we begin."

"But Auntiiieeee, I'm hungryyy." Alfred slumped onto the table staring at his food.

"Alfred J Jones, you are 400 years old. You are not a toddler." Nagged Ireland, "Why, when I was your age we didn't know when our next meal would be but we still waited for everyone to get here."

"Where is everyoooone?" America whined despite being scolded by his aunt.

"That is actually a good question… The stew will get cold soon…" Ireland paused for a minute, thinking of what next to do. She took a deep breath in and "GET YOUR ARSES IN 'ERE! THE STEW IS GETTIN' COLD AND YOU ALL KNOW DAMN WELL I WON'T HEAT IT UP FOR YA!"

Alfred shot up, and watched everyone trickling in, grumbling about the stuff they were doing and how there was now a massive herd of sheep that lost control in the living room. He reached for the spoon to eat when his aunt slapped his hand again.

"We have to say grace, Alfred." Ireland hissed at him. "Everyone hold hands we're saying grace."

"No offense Ireland, but I'm not reaching over a chair to hold Wales's hand." England crossed his arms in defiance.

"Iggy, Canada is right next to you. If you weren't so dense you would've noticed him." Wales perked up before Canada could say anything.

The family all held hands and said grace whether or not they believed in Christianity because fighting Ireland about it just wasn't worth it. As they dug in, they slowly began to remember that you don't eat the soda bread. France was the first to fall.

"You call this bread? I eat better bread from England's bakery!" France started cursing in French before pulling a baguette out of his pocket.

"Oi South, 'ow do you eat this crap? It tastes worse than England's bread!" Scotland pulled out a lump of meat from his bag and gnawed on that instead.

"I hate to agree with those chumps but… they're right. Except for the rude remarks about my cooking!" England pulled out some crumpets to nibble on. Wales and Scotland didn't say anything, but Canada had a plate of pancakes prepared and Wales had some leeks instead.

"Honestly dude," America said through a hamburger he was devouring, "How can you eat this?"

Both Irelands looked up from their already cleaned plates confused.

"It's food." They both said at the same time staring down everyone. They hadn't been picky about what they eat since the Great Famine that began North's life.


	5. Chapter 5

"England please, my people are starving." Ireland begged, "We need more soup kitchens."

"Ireland, you know I love you, but I can't. I'm very busy at the moment and well…" England's voice trailed off before he awkwardly started backing out of the room.

"OI YOU SCONE! GET BACK HERE!" Ireland threw the blight infected potatoes at him while he ran away. "Whelp," Ireland sighed, "There goes my food for the next couple of years."

A young redheaded boy waddled up to her and tugged on her sleeve. "Big sis, why are you sad?"

She looked down at the chibi standing in front of her. "Who the fecking hell are you?" She patted his head gently.

"Watch your language cunt, I'm Ireland." he crawled onto her lap, sitting contently.

"Well, I'm Ireland, so you can't be." She picked him up, staring into his emerald green eyes. "You don't want to be me right now anyways."

"I'm the English part then." The little boy jumped out of her arms and sat back on her lap.

"That's even worse. England is a little shitheaded bitch who can't even feed his family." Ireland booped the young child's nose. He was really adorable.

"England is a shithead?"

"The shittiest one!"

The two redheads chanted that for a while, with England just around the corner crying a little because even the children from Ireland hated him. Hopefully it wouldn't be like that forever.


End file.
